


Permanently Personal

by melonbutterfly



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: K/S Advent Calendar, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim doesn't exactly seem to dislike Christmas, but there's still something more about it. Spock is going to find out what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permanently Personal

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ksadvent2009.

Jim doesn't like Christmas.

Spock finds that interesting; as far as he can tell, all humans look forward to this celebration, whatever name they may apply to that. It has long stopped having a religious meaning foremost. Nowadays, a human celebrates it mostly for the meaning than for the message, and Spock has never encountered a human who does not appreciate the meaning.

On the Enterprise, it's, as the humans put it, 'a big deal', because it's their first Christmas together, and they're holding a big party for everyone and the departments are having separate gatherings as well (which he finds puzzling, but it's called 'bonding' and that generally means that humans are prone to even more illogical behaviour). Spock has had to deal with humans trying to re-arrange their shifts so they could attend these festivities for weeks, but there is a clause for that in the contracts of every Starfleet member ("everyone has the right to celebrate their species' traditional festivities, religious or otherwise, and schedules must be arranged around them"), and usually they take care enough to find a replacement. It is time-consuming, but not unreasonably so.

Generally speaking, Spock has observed that the humans have been excited and looking forward to the parties they were going to attend, as well as the private celebrations they were apparently holding with close friends. Uhura has been transmitting Christmas video-messages back and forth for weeks as well; from what she has told Spock, humans don't actually watch them until Christmas Eve in order to create a more festive feeling. It is peculiar, and clogging up the memory spaces of the computers, but so far nobody has used more memory space than it was allotted to them. Thus it hasn't been slowing any data processing, so Spock has neither reason nor inclination to complain.

Except, Jim is not 'joining in on the fun', as he himself would put it. He is not moody or sad or displaying any similar emotion, but neither is he as jolly as the other humans appear to be. He hasn't said anything about it either, as he would, if it were important; of that Spock is sure.

And so Spock can only wonder and, of course, speculate. He knows that Jim had a troubled relationship with his mother and stepfather in the past, but they have long reconciled and are now having a relatively companionable relationship. Neither is Jim fighting with his brother Samuel nor with his family. Actually, Spock has expected Jim to look forward to this as much as the rest of the crew, since it would not fit his character that he was not. Spock doesn't worry about it, not yet; Jim hasn't given him any reason to. But it is peculiar, and Spock intents to find out more about it.

After several days of watching Jim, Spock isn't any closer to the answer though. Jim apparently doesn't dislike Christmas as much as the creature called 'Grinch' in the human fictional telling, but he also doesn't 'join in on the spirit' the way the other humans usually do. It isn't obvious enough to catch the attention of the whole crew, but of course, rumours have already started. Rumours start even when there isn't anything to start about; naturally they'd arise as well when there actually is none (Spock has yet to find out a certain pattern to the raising and disposal of rumours).

That is why Spock decides to make his observation known to Jim and ask him about it at their next evening meeting.

He brings it up after they have finished their first game of chess. Jim is nursing at a glass of some kind of alcoholic beverage while Spock is sipping at a cup of tea. Sometimes at this point of the meeting they are already talking; about literally any topic that comes to their minds, but today, they have been playing in silence so far.

"Jim," he calls lowly in order to gain his lover's attention. When Jim looks up and smiles encouragingly, he quickly relays his observations and closes his speculations with "I am not able to come to any other conclusion than that you do not appreciate Christmas-like celebrations much. Am I correct?"

"Hm." Jim tilts his head. "In a way, yes, though also not completely. It's just that…" he leans back in his chair, staring thoughtfully into the distance. "I suppose I don't like it that so many people need celebrations like Christmas or birthdays to express their feelings, you know? I mean, I've known so many people who never told their loved ones how much they appreciate them unless it was a 'special occasion', and it used to make me so mad when I was younger. I long learned to deal with it; that's just how some people are, but it's definitely not how I am or want to be. I want to show the people I love that I love them regardless of the time of year, and it just… I don't know. I don't dislike Christmas; I just don't really like this. You understand?"

Spock nods absently while he is assessing the information he just received; not only about what Jim has told him, but also the conclusions he comes to with the newly-received data. Jim certainly is a very affectionate person; he hugs people frequently (and always takes care to do it in a way that does not make them uncomfortable, Spock has noted) and hands out touches and compliments like Spock has rarely seen anybody else doing before, especially considering his position. And he tells both McCoy and Spock frequently that he loves them—not that Spock is present when he does so for McCoy mostly, but occasionally, he is, when the three of them are alone for some reason. Jim knows neither McCoy nor Spock would appreciate such display of emotion in front of an audience, and he's very considerate in portioning out his appreciation of someone, but Spock now knows for certain that nobody is aware of how high in Jim's esteem they are being held.

He also thinks that there is another reason for Jim disliking the fact that not everybody is so open with their feelings, which he has left unsaid: that any one of them could die at any moment. And they all have consoled guilt-ridden crewmen needing to talk about how they never made someone aware of how much they meant to each other, or wondering what they meant to someone who has passed away and feeling bad about it. Spock thinks one of Jim's motivations might be the wish to prevent that; when Jim dies, he doesn't want to leave anyone behind who doesn't know exactly how much they meant to him. The imbalance is that Jim probably does not know what eighty percent of his acquaintances think of him. Spock has never thought about it before, but suddenly, he almost feels ashamed. Not because he hides what he feels from him, but because he has such difficulty expressing it properly.

Carefully, he puts his cup of tea down and considers his options. "Jim," he says even before he comes to a conclusion; he feels the need to say something, to let Jim know that he's not merely taking in, assessing and contemplating the points he has made. That, Jim is aware of, and often (when they are alone) he asks him to speak his thoughts aloud. This, though, is different.

Jim blinks, something in Spock's intonation or expression obviously making him perk up, and then realisation washes over his face, making his eyes widen. "Spock- _no_ -", he says, then quickly puts his glass down and gets up, rounding the table. Spock calculates his most likely intention, then pushes his chair back from the table to make room for him, quickly going over the past nine seconds in his mind, trying to figure out if he has accidentally transmitted something a human would interpret as being alerting in some way, but neither he has done such thing, nor he is aware of it. Since he has known Jim for only nine months, and while that is usually sufficient for most personalities, for someone like Jim it is not by a wide margin, it is likely the latter option is applicable.

He is correct, at least, with his estimation of what it is that Jim wants; he slides his knees onto Spock's chair on both sides of his legs, successfully manoeuvring himself into his lap, Spock's hands almost automatically finding their way to rest on his thighs as Jim wraps his arms loosely around Spock's neck. Jim likes this position, Spock has more than enough data to be one hundred percent sure of this since they sit like this often enough. It has something to do with both feeling protected and cradled and cherished (this feeling is increased when Spock is the one to encourage this position), and also with cradling and cherishing and protecting. Spock can see and feel nothing but Jim, like this.

"No," Jim says again, voice quiet, and leans his forehead into Spock's, eyes closed. "That's not what I meant."

Spock tries not to furrow his brow questioningly. Jim can feel it now, and he does not want to disquiet him any more than he apparently already has. He has to ask, though. "I must admit, I am unaware what it is you did not mean."

Jim sighs (not a tired sigh; a sigh of contentment, Spock knows from experience) and wraps his arms tighter around Spock's neck, slides deeper into his lap, pressing their chests together. Almost on their own, Spock's hands slide higher until they mould around the crease where Jim's legs join his hips, just below his hip-bone. His fingertips are just brushing the beginnings of the swell of Jim's buttocks, and he tightens his grip a little.

"I didn't mean to say that I need to say it to express it, or have it being said to me to know it," Jim explains, voice still quiet. "I mean, except for you and Bones, I don't go around telling people I love them, or I like them or anything. I tell them they're great and where I'd be—or wouldn't be—without them; except for you two, I don't really say it. Not only because nobody comes even close to you two; I don't really _like_ saying it. It's still… a pretty private thing, you know? A vulnerable thing. I understand why people don't go around shouting it from the trees. It's just… it's not exactly logical or reasonable; it's a mix of leftover pent-up frustration from when I was younger and pissed off because nobody ever _told_ me. I needed everything spelled out for me then, and I was too stuck in my own head to learn to listen. And when someone told me at Christmas or my birthday or when I had an accident, I could never be sure they weren't just saying it because of the occasion, you know? I reasoned that if they really felt it, they'd say it at other times too. I didn't know that most of them _were_ saying it, except not with words. I…" he pauses and opens his eyes, leaning back and rolling his hips, not in a sexual gesture but to encourage Spock to tighten his grip. Jim likes being held tightly, but right now, it is an instinctual motion while he is trying to find the right words, so Spock only flexes his fingers, not enough to distract his lover.

"This is so hard to explain," Jim finally sighs, clearly frustrated. "Especially because it's so… I don't know, stupid. It's just… really a leftover from my youth that I'm too lazy to get rid of. I mean, if I made an effort, I could probably start to look forward to Christmas. I don't actually dislike it, and it's not bad or stupid a celebration or anything. I just never saw the point, you know? Still don't. I mean. I have you and you don't really celebrate it, and I have Bones who'll be with us, and that's really enough. I get and send video messages to Sam and his family and mother and Frank, and that's almost too much already—it's complicated, and contradictory. I don't like that much emotion in one place, you know? Crammed into just two days. I'm not really making sense, am I?"

"Not in strictly linear thinking, perhaps," Spock starts, but Jim interrupts him accidentally by twitching.

"Sorry," he ducks his head sheepishly. "I just remembered I totally lost my point. Go on."

"It is not important," Spock says and raises one eyebrow, curious. "What is your point?"

Jim grins crookedly. "I _meant_ to say that I don't require you to say it. I eventually learned to listen, and you really say it often and loudly; loud enough for me, I mean. I like to hear you say it, but I know it's an effort, and I don't _need_ to hear it that often."

Lowering his gaze, Spock takes a moment to take that in. He knew Jim doesn't actually need to hear it; Nyota had, and that was what eventually brought an end to their sexual relationship. Perhaps it is illogical, but to Spock, it was a lot harder to say when he knew it was required. Of course he was able to form the words, and he also did mean them, but to combine both and consequently turn his back on everything he had been raised up to was… difficult. Though maybe it is so much easier with Jim because it (very illogically) feels more natural, or maybe because especially with Jim, every emotion is automatically enhanced marginally; but Spock estimates that it actually is a combination of all those possibilities. To pin it down to just one would have been simplifying, and incorrect.

And now, like Jim before, he has lost his original track of thought. Maybe he could lay the blame on the proximity of Jim or the lateness of the hour, but actually it is because emotion frequently does that to him. Talking about it, thinking about it, feeling too much (and on top of this, there are many emotions running rampant on the Enterprise at the moment, brushing against him whenever he reaches crowded areas); it makes him lose focus. Only exiguously, but combined with the lateness of the hour after a stressful day of writing reports and re-scheduling crewmembers and operation charts, the proximity of Jim and trying to puzzle out the latest mystery about him, it has taken its toll on him more than he can implicate.

He takes a breath, decides in uncharacteristically Jim-like fashion that damage done is damage done, and looks up, locking eyes with Jim's. "I love you," he says.

Jim grins dazzlingly and cradles Spock's face with both hands, leaning in again to rest their foreheads together. "I know," he replies. He doesn't need to say it back and, more importantly, Spock doesn't need him to say it back. Not when it is running through his mind the moment they touch skin and skin again. It would have been too much.


End file.
